"Noah, I need all of the black rock."
The pale Noah, having just stepped into the workshop, froze at the threshold. A whole spectrum of emotions crossed his face—ranging from utter bewilderment to sheer irritation.
"Are you mocking me?" he grunted, scowling. "There are over five hundred chunks out there. We dragged that industrial waste out to the far platforms because you told us it was useless junk. And now you want us to haul it back?"
"Exactly."
Elyria, who was circling near the ceiling, let out an ecstatic squeak and dove straight toward Noah’s face.
"Yay! New tech! Let's go, pale boy! I'll prod you along and light the way!"
Noah merely let out a heavy exhale.
Snatching a pair of empty wooden crates stacked against the wall, he spun around and strode out the door. Elyria shot out immediately after him.
While they were gone, I didn't waste a single second.
My fingers flew across the heavy sheets of parchment. Before my eyes, cascades of figures, algorithms, and data streams from the Lumon system flickered in a non-stop blur.
I needed to design two things at once. First, a heavy hydraulic press capable of crushing and compressing the pulverized rock under colossal pressure. Second, a completely redesigned converter smelting chamber where these replaceable black cores could be slotted in, one by one, like rounds into a magazine.
I lost track of time—it could have been thirty minutes or an hour—before a heavy thud broke the silence of the workshop.
The door flew open, and Noah hauled in the first two crates, both filled to the brim with coal-black rocks. Hovering behind him, Elyria's magic held a third container aloft in the air.
"That's the first batch," Noah panted, wiping sweat from his brow. "My guys are already hauling the rest to the doorstep. Where do you want it?"
"Right here, by the workbench. And don't get comfortable, Noah—I've got a much tougher job for you." I pointed to a massive steel anvil plate. "I need your raw strength and flawless precision. See these stones? They need to be split perfectly down the middle. Can you do it?"
"Of course I can."
Noah grabbed another heavy black boulder from the crate, locked it against the steel plate, and delivered a short, lightning-fast strike with the edge of his palm.
Crack!
With absolute accuracy, the stone snapped cleanly into two halves.
I snatched up the split pieces, instantly inspecting the fresh shears. If the interior revealed that mirror-glossy texture, I set the piece to my right. If it turned out to be ordinary, dull waste rock, I tossed it into the left pile by my feet.
That was where Elyria came in.
She streaked across my workbench, focused, whistling currents of air magic erupting from her tiny palms. With precise micro-bursts, the spirit blasted away every speck of coal dust, tiny shards, and debris from the selected mirror cores.
She left behind nothing but perfectly pristine, raw material before gently stacking the clean pieces into the hopper of the makeshift press.
Soon, all three of us were entirely coated in black soot and stone dust. Our clothes were soaked with sweat, and the air inside the workshop grew thick, heavy, and hot.
Finally, when the workshop was packed to the brim with the purified mirror concentrate, I threw my weight against the heavy lever of the crude hydraulic mechanism.
The metal groaned. The piston ground slowly downward, exerting immense pressure to compact the black mass.
Clack.
As the piston retracted to its starting position, our very first completed, reusable thermal core lay at the bottom of the mold.
We just had to repeat the process four more times.
While the three of them labored in the workshop, work on Dornheim’s rocky ridge never paused for a second.
Pickaxes rang, gravel crunched, and Marek constantly checked his alignment stakes. Clara stood a little ways back, keeping a watchful eye over the entire site, directing the laborers on where to dump the excavated earth most efficiently.
Darwin, who had briefly stepped away from the forge to catch his breath by the fire and stretch his stiff shoulders, suddenly froze.
Trudging around the corner of a half-built bunkhouse came a familiar figure wearing a stained, heavy apron.
"Well, look who finally crawled out into the fresh air!" Darwin boomed good-naturedly, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Has the great Doctor Albert himself actually abandoned his vials and bandages?"
Albert offered a weary smile, walked over to the campfire, and sank onto an empty log with a quiet sigh. His face looked hollow, dark circles ringed his eyes, and his fingers trembled slightly from prolonged strain.
"Yeah, Darwin, I can hardly believe it myself," the doctor muttered, rubbing his temples as he stretched his cold hands toward the flames. "For the first time in weeks, I managed to snag a free hour."
Hearing their voices, Marek walked over, wiping his dirt-stained hands on his trousers.
"What’s the matter, Doc? Did our roughnecks completely run you ragged?"
"You have no idea, Marek," Albert sighed, shaking his head. "Down in the mines, the boys are constantly catching dislocations and deep bruises. Over at the sawmill, it's vicious cuts from flying splinters and saws. And I won't even mention the crushed fingers from dropped stones."
"But right now..." He glanced back toward the camp. "It's finally quiet. Everyone is stitched up, splints are set, and the salves are applied."
Albert reached out toward a nearby crowbar, intending to pitch in and help, but Marek immediately caught his hand.
"Drop the tools!" the builder barked sternly. "Don't even think about grabbing gear. You’ve worked harder over these past weeks than any of us. Your only job right now is to sit tight, warm up by the fire, and drink your brew. We can handle things out here without you. Rest."
Clara stepped up to the fire, offering the doctor a warm smile as she handed him a mug of steaming herbal tea.
"Marek is right, Albert. What the camp needs most right now is a well-rested physician. Sit with us."
Albert accepted the mug, took a deep, grateful gulp, and slowly closed his eyes.
Once he had warmed up a bit and finished the fragrant herbal brew, Albert rose from the log.
Instead of heading straight back to his infirmary, the doctor paused for a moment. His gaze drifted to the dark silhouette of the workshop, where a deep crimson glow was bleeding through the cracks in the window frames.
That stubborn man hasn't stepped foot outside in a whole week, the physician thought with concern, adjusting his medical apron. I should at least check his pulse.
With quiet, measured steps, Albert approached the heavy wooden door of the workshop. He carefully cracked it open and froze on the threshold, holding his breath.
A heavy, scorching haze of stone dust and soot choked the workshop air.
Iron’s face was pale and drawn, but a manic, brilliant fire burned in his eyes as he barked out short, sharp commands.
Right beside him, Noah worked tirelessly, caked in coal grime up to his elbows.
Crack! Crack!
And hovering right above their heads, Elyria streaked back and forth. She was breathing heavily, her tiny face smudged with soot, but tight jets of compressed air continuously hissed from her miniature palms.
With unerring accuracy, her wind blasts blew every stray speck of dust and debris off the pieces Iron selected, instantly prepping the material for the press.
All three were breathing heavily, their clothes completely drenched in sweat, yet they moved in a flawless, unbroken rhythm.
Albert slowly lowered his hand, never stepping across the threshold.
Careful not to make a sound, he pulled the handle back toward himself and tightly shut the door from the outside.
He turned and walked away slowly, burying his hands deep into his pockets. Shaking his head, the doctor murmured softly under his breath:
"Yeah... I think I'll just leave them to it."
Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!
Use arrow keys (or A / D) to PREV/NEXT chapter